The Real Me
by Willow Edmond
Summary: Mox is exactly where he wants to be, the FCW, training for the WWE. So why is he feeling so miserable? (Part of the I'm Free series, but can be read as a stand alone)


"_A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."_

― Jean de La Fontaine, Fables

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**The Real Me**

{o}-{o}-{o}

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Mox had been in the Indies since he was eighteen, and before that, had lived in the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy. He knew wrestling wasn't easy, he knew it involved a lot of working out, a lot of pain, a lot of sore muscles. He was sure he was prepared for life in FCW.

He wasn't.

He knew this was the preamble for the big time, WWE, so he did expect to be somewhat busier, but he didn't realize just how busy it was going to be. He wasn't even wrestling yet, at least not in front of an audience, and he was working his ass off. He thought he was in good shape, and he was, but he hadn't been in _WWE _shape. This meant most of his days he worked out, ran drills, whatever they asked of him. The first few months he and Seth were there, they would go home to the house they were renting and collapse on their beds right after work and more often than not, skip dinner and fall asleep. Mox had forgotten how many times he'd woken up still dressed. He also forgot how many times he just wore the same clothes into the training center the next day, just to give himself some extra sleep time. He'd bring another change of clothes in his duffle bag, and after he was done, he'd take a shower and change into clean clothes. Which, he was running out of too, because who the heck had time to do the laundry?

As they were driving to and from the performance center/gym six days a week, he and Seth gave each other pep talks, telling each other they were paying their dues and it would soon pay off. And stop for coffee. Lots of coffee. Even Seth, Mr. I-don't-put-drugs-into-my-system, drank coffee now. He even had the Starbucks app on his phone.

Obviously it _was_ paying off though, because they had started to pull different wrestlers away from the gym and into the office areas to discuss character ideas. Seth had been called before him, and told him that it was great. Dusty Rhodes was there along with a couple of executives and some green writer they'd just hired named Dan.

"Dusty is fantastic, of course," Seth said, "I was nervous as hell at first around him, but he has this way to get you to relax so soon enough you forget he's a legend and start seeing him as someone who wants to see you succeed in the WWE. He has great ideas."

They were heading home in Seth's car, Seth driving. He was all wound up and energetic, while Mox was so tired all he could do was listen.

"Dan is awesome, too," Seth continued, his words flying out of his mouth. "He used to be a writer on a cable talk show out of New York, _Now This Is Wrestling_, yeah, I never heard of it either, it's small potatoes."

Mox actually _had_ heard of it, and even knew that their friends Raven and her sister May had been on it before. They covered all sorts of wrestling, from what had happened on the WWE that week, to what the smaller, indie companies were doing. He considered mentioning that to Seth, but Seth was in motormouth mode and Mox was sure he'd never get a word in edgewise.

"-someone in WWE saw it and was impressed enough to get him hired for FCW. He's got _so _many ideas for FCW and all the ones I heard were great! But, what I like the best is that he's not into _ scripts_ for promos. He likes the idea of letting the wrestler use the words they want. You know, give them a bullet list of things they need to bring across, but let them decide how to say it so it sounds natural."

"Sounds good," Mox said, and it did sound good and he wished he could show more enthusiasm, but _damn_, he was tired.

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{o}-{o}-{o}

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Mox got his turn the next day, right after lunch. He was grateful they told him before he got his lunch break, because it gave him a chance to take a shower, knowing he was probably fragrant with sweat. _Even if this is not as exciting as Seth made it out to be, just the fact that I'll be sitting there, not running ropes or doing drills will make it fantastic. _

He'd been mistaken. The meeting had not been fantastic, quite the opposite and as he and Seth were headed home, he was outwardly quiet, while his brain spun about a thousand miles an hour.

Seth tried to question him, clearly expecting Mox would be as excited as he had been, and was baffled when all Mox did was stare off. "Are you sick or something?"

_Not physically. _"No, I'm fine," Mox lied. "I'm just _so _tired that I've gone beyond punch drunk and right into a walking coma."

"But your meeting," Seth asked. "How did it go? Wasn't it awesome? Isn't Dusty the greatest? Doesn't Dan have great ideas?"

"Yeah," Mox lied again, the truth being he'd barely heard anyone talking at the meeting. He realized Seth wasn't going to settle for that and added, "It was cool. Really, I think it was great. I'm sorry, I slept like crap last night, and it's all catching up. I just need to get some sleep, I'm still processing everything."

"Okay," Seth said, letting out a loud breath, like some backwards gasp. "I understand. Maybe though, you're coming down with something? Remind me when we get to the house, I've got some immunity defense tea I can make for you. I know it's probably bullshit, but I always find it makes me feel better when I'm not feeling my best."

Mox looked at Seth, shaking his head. "Placebo effect."

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{o}-{o}-{o}

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He had fallen asleep the moment he got home, even though Seth was in the kitchen brewing tea for him. He only meant to rest for a few seconds and the next moment his eyes were closing and they wouldn't open.

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{o}-{o}-{o}

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_He knew he was wrestling but he wasn't sure where. The place was dark, the only part lit up was the ring itself, the audience cloaked in darkness. He couldn't recognize the place, it might have been the SPWA arena, or one of the many places he'd wrestled in the indies. It might even be the performance center where FCW held their matches. _

_He was in a match with… _someone_ and he couldn't tell who it was. Every time he tried to focus on their face, they would move, obscuring the view. Or, he'd try to look at their face and suddenly it would seem like they were in a different arena and a lot of time had passed._

_But the audience was cheering for him, not his nameless, faceless opponent. He could hear them chanting for him. _

"_Let's go Moxley, Let's go Mox!" they shouted, just like they did for him in the indies. And it was sweet music to his ears. _

_Then, the chanting changed. "Let's go Reigns!" That was less common, but the folks at SPWA sometimes called him Reigns in chants, because most of them knew he'd been adopted by the Reigns family. It had never bothered him, SPWA watchers had been his first audience and they knew how much it meant to him that the Reigns had adopted him, made him theirs. _

_The cheering seemed to split, one side going, "Let's go Reigns!" the other going, "Let's go Moxley, let's go Mox!" on the other. That was fine too. but then another cry started coming from the folks behind the announcer's table. _

"_Little Timmy! Little Timmy!" rang out in that chanting voice and Mox felt his blood grow cold. He stopped wrestling, and it seemed like his opponent just disappeared from the ring and he was alone. _

"_No!" he screamed back at the crowd, but his voice sounded so weak, even to his own ears. "That's not my name!" _

_The cheering did not die down, it got even longer, then he realized they weren't saying Little Timmy anymore, they were saying, "Let's go A-" _

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

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Mox shot up in bed, shaking his head. _Dream! _the rational part of his mind screamed. _It was a dream, a nightmare, but that's_ all_ it was! _

Or, _was_ it?

His alarm clock was on the dresser across from him, so he would have to get out of bed to shut it off. It wasn't ringing now though, and the numbers read 2:17. He still had a few hours to get some needed sleep, but now he was wide awake.

He felt a wave of homesickness roll over him. He wanted to be back at SPWA. He wanted Roman to wake up in the bed across the room and ask him if he was all right. Or, that there was a wrestling ring right outside the door, where he could run the ropes, and let the thoughts in his mind unravel until he was calm again. He knew he wasn't going to go back to sleep, at least not soon.

He got out of bed, went and used the one bathroom, which was off the kitchen of the tiny house. Seth had left a note on the refrigerator saying he'd made iced tea using the immunity defense tea and Mox should drink it if he woke up. When he opened up the refrigerator, he saw a plastic pitcher full of iced tea and a post-it note sticking to it that said, "Drink Me!"

Mox smiled despite himself and almost wished Seth was awake. Maybe he could tell Seth what was wrong. _No, you can't tell Seth,_ part of his mind shot right back before the thought could fully form. _Seth won't be any help. But you know who might be._

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{o}-{o}-{o}

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_God,_ Sefa thought as he looked at the clock on his bedside, and noting it said 2:25 in the morning, _this getting old crap is for the birds._ This was the second time he'd woken up that night with a desperate need to use the bathroom. Carefully, he rose from the bed, making sure to be careful so he didn't wake Jen and used the bathroom. _Maybe Jen is right, I do need to make an appointment with a doctor, but I hate prostate exams. _

As he washed his hands after using the bathroom, he realized he'd been asleep long enough to get that dry and fuzzy feeling in his mouth, that thick, coating that water never seemed to break up. But he knew what would and headed down to the kitchen to get a glass of iced tea.

As he sat down to drink it, his cell phone began ringing. He'd left it downstairs to charge and so it wouldn't wake him. If it was a dire emergency, whoever it was could just call him on the landline, like _civilized_ people used to.

He looked over at the screen to see who was calling and when he saw who it was, he picked up the phone and turned it on. "Mox?"

At first there was silence, then, "Dad," Mox said, "I'm sorry I'm calling so late, but I need to talk to you."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

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Mox had called Sefa's cell phone, knowing he kept it downstairs when he slept, and he'd fully expected it would ring and ring and go to voicemail. So, he was shocked when Sefa answered it using his name. Shocked, but grateful.

"Dad, I'm sorry I'm calling so late, but I need to talk to you."

"That's okay," Sefa said, his rumbling voice that Mox knew could roar like a bear when he was dealing with annoying campers, now smooth and gentle. "Are _you_ okay?"

Mox hesitated, almost wanting to go, "Yes, I'm fine," because that was the polite thing to do. However, if everything was fine, why would he be calling this late at night? "No, I'm not. I mean, physically, I'm fine. But emotionally? I-I'm really not sure."

"Really?" Sefa said and he honestly sounded surprised which pleased Mox. It told Mox his father thought he was in a good place emotionally, not the screwed up kid he'd been when he first came to live with them. "I know you're doing great. Hey, I have to tell you, Mark, and I mean Mark the_ Undertaker_ called the other day to talk to me about you. He's seen you at the training center and he's very impressed with your skillset-"

"Dad?" Normally Mox would have been thrilled to know that the Undertaker even knew who he was, never mind that he cared enough to tell his father he was impressed with him, but these weren't normal times. "Please, let me talk?"

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Sefa said and Mox could hear him smack his forehead with his palm. "You need to talk and here I am babbling. What's wrong, son?"

"Dad, they won't let me wrestle-" Mox began and stopped, because tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes and he knew his voice would tremble if he continued, so he stopped to draw himself together.

"Won't let you wrestle?" Sefa scoffed. "Of _course_ they're going to let you wrestle! Didn't you just hear me say that you impressed the _Undertaker? _I know him, he'll drop a word to the bosses and you'll probably be in the shows sooner than you think. Probably sooner than Seth, but don't tell him I said that."

At first Mox had been grateful his father was doing so much talking, it gave him a chance to get a hold of himself, swallow back the tears, the trembling. Unable to stop himself, he pictured all of it being rolled into a ball and that ball pushed down into some hole inside of him, joining all the balls of bad feelings that had gathered themselves over the years. "No, Dad," he said. "I didn't finish. I-I was going to say they won't let me wrestle under _my_ name."

"Oh!" Sefa said, sounding relieved as if he'd been expecting much worse. "I know you've always loved your name. You picked it, after all. But I warned you, the WWF likes to change names. They want to copyright them. It's stupid, but that's what they do. It's no big deal, Mox."

"Yes it is," Mox disagreed. "Dad, it's not that they want to change my name, it's that they want me to wrestle as _Dean Ambrose." _

Another "Oh," but this one was quieter. He knew Sefa had instantly understood why Mox wouldn't like this at all and was trying to figure out what to say.

Mox found his mind drifting to the conversation that afternoon when the "we have to change your name" conversation came up.

"_But I've always wrestled under the name, Jon Moxley," he'd said. "It's important to me. Please let me keep it, I'll even let you copyright it to the WWE, just let me keep using it." _

_Dusty had been sympathetic, but insistent. The WWE had their ways of doing things and they really disliked using names that had been previously used by wrestlers, and they liked to avoid using someone's real name. Mox tried to protest, tried to emphasize that they were welcome to keep the name, just let him use it, but his cries seemed to fall on deaf ears. So, he'd suggested using his other, now legal last name. "How about Jon Reigns?" He didn't like it as much as he liked Moxley for wrestling, but he was proud to be a Reigns. _

_One of the suits, whose name Mox didn't want to bother to remember told him why the name Reigns wouldn't be acceptable, which didn't improve Mox's mood at all. Then, the same suit dropped the bomb and suggested Dean Ambrose. "We like that," the suit said. "Your character is a rebel without a clue, so the Dean part will remind folks of James Dean. And Ambrose means immortal, so really, it sounds like the type of name we at the WWE would come up with. The Rebel Immortal, Dean Ambrose. It rolls off the tongue." _

_To give Dan and Dusty credit, when Mox looked at them, they at least had the decency to look embarrassed. They both knew how his birth name had been discovered, back when he came forward to the FBI, to the press, for a while he'd been a reluctant media star, hounded by the press, refusing to talk to them, so someone had dug it up so they could publish some article about him, in lieu of getting a real interview with him. Dean Ambrose. He hadn't minded the name before, even if he wasn't particularly fond of it, but now it was tainted, permanently connected with him having been kidnapped and forced to be "Little Timmy" for most of his childhood. But the suit hadn't care, he and the other suit, this one female had been falling over themselves to tell him how perfect Dean Ambrose would be. The female suit even cried out, "Let's go Ambrose!" to show him how smooth it would sound being chanted by the audience. _

"Mox, I know you don't like the idea, but it's okay," Sefa said, his voice cutting through the mist of memories swirling around Mox's brain. "It's just a name."

"Supposedly, it's exactly the sort of name the WWE would have picked for me," Mox said, unable to keep the bitterness at bay, bitterness that tasted like rotten lemons.

Sefa hesitated before speaking. "I hate to say this, and you don't want to hear it, but it does sound like a WWF, I mean, WWE, name."

"Yeah, MamaDonna gave me a wrestler name because she knew the fucking future," Mox muttered. He wasn't really upset with his birth mother, it wasn't her fault her last name was Ambrose and she'd given him such a 'cool' first name. Then he realized what he said and rushed to speak, "Please don't tell Mom I call Donna MamaDonna. I don't want her feelings to be hurt. It is sort of a joke we came up with when I was staying with her, when I was doing shows at Heartland. The second time, not the first. I didn't even start it, it was Faulk. He came over the house so much she joked that he'd become another son, and he'd joked back that she was MamaDonna and the nickname just stuck, I don't-"

"Mox, it's okay," Sefa said soothingly. "Your mother will be thrilled you've recognized Donna is family. Jen knows she's your one and only _Mom."_

"I don't want to hurt Mom's feelings," Mox said, wiping his eyes. "I-I suggested we could use the name Jon Reigns instead. Wanna know what they said?"

"I think I do, but I think you need to tell me," Sefa said, and the sound of his voice told Mox he'd stiffened a bit.

"'Yes, everyone knows the Reigns family adopted you,'" Mox said, imitating Suit Guy. "But you don't _look_ like a Reigns."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Sefa said, an edge of disgust creeping into his voice. "Jesus, the name isn't even Samoan, it's Old English. _You_ probably look more like an authentic Reigns than I do. My birth surname was Foma'i. I picked Reigns when I was at my angry-at-being-Samoan phase."

"Why would you be angry at being Samoan?" Mox asked, letting his curiosity override his misery. "Samoan wrestlers are _cool._ Sometimes I think all the Samoan islands are nothing but training grounds for wrestlers."

"Yeah, we learn to wrestle before we learn to walk," Sefa joked. "I got your brother Marc in trouble once, over that."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sefa admitted. "He was doing a special report for school. The kids had to write about one country their ancestors came from, and he picked the Islands. The internet didn't exist, so he was asking me questions about it. I didn't know he was doing a report on it for school, so when he asked me what the number one export was, I said 'wrestlers.' He thought that was a fact and argued it with his teacher."

Mox found himself laughing, and he had the feeling that was what Sefa wanted him to do. To laugh and remind himself that even though he was upset, the world went on. Humor hadn't stopped, life hadn't stopped. He might be depressed now, but he would be okay one day, maybe sooner than he hoped. "I love you, Dad," he blurted out.

"I love you too, Mox," Sefa said. "You're my boy. And we're so proud of you. Hell, you're going to end up going further up in wrestling than I did, I can tell. You bring this family honor."

The last sentence caused Mox's temporary bubble of happiness to burst. "I wouldn't have minded being Jon Reigns," he said, and he knew there was a sob in his words. "I just don't want to be Dean Ambrose."

"Why is that so bad?" Sefa gently asked. "I'll bet your 'MamaDonna' would be so proud, and your mom and I understand that wrestling means name changes. As I said, I wasn't born with the name Reigns. I changed it because I was irritated that almost all Samoan wrestlers were portrayed as barely civilized savages. or flat out _uncivilized_ savages. It wasn't until I met my tag team partner, Aleki, that I realized rather than deny I was Samoan, I should embrace it, and fight the stereotype. Every time the WWF suggested loin cloths or eating chicken and throwing the bones around the stage, we fought it and we won. I'm no Rock, but I would like to think Aleki and I were instrumental in getting rid of those stereotypes."

"You were," Mox said. "You guys were the best." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Uh, you wouldn't mind if I'd been able to convince them to let me use Jon Reigns, would you?"

"Hell no," Sefa said firmly. "_How_ many times do we have to tell you we're proud of you. You're a Reigns. Even if I'd changed my name back to Foma'i, you would have been a Foma'i. Blood doesn't matter, you're family."

"I _am_ convinced," Mox wiped his eyes again, but he was keeping his voice steady. "But I just feel like I'm letting you down, like I'm running away from the family by becoming Dean Ambrose again. Fuck, Dad, I don't remember being Dean Ambrose at all." That wasn't quite true, he had a few memories of before he was kidnapped, but so few that he didn't think they counted.

"I don't think that's all the reason, son," Sefa said gently. "Marc and I told you to expect name changes. And, you and your birth family have worked things out, so why do you hate the name Dean Ambrose so much?"

"Because-because," Mox sputtered, then paused to draw in his thoughts. "Because it _reminds_ me. It reminds me of all the crap that went down when I came forward. All the publicity, all the reporters wanting to talk to me." As he spoke, the feelings from that time came rushing back. He thought it was a nightmare that would never end. Yes, the "Little Suzie" videos were never mentioned or brought into evidence in Dennis's trial, the FBI had protected him from that, in return for his testifying and assisting them in trying to track down more people like Dennis and Sam. But that didn't mean some folks hadn't gone and found them, or known about them before and it didn't stop them from judging him. Especially on the internet, where everyone was so brave and bold behind the safety of the screen. He'd been called a monster, a child rapist, and the worst was that part of him felt he'd deserved that judgment, even though he also knew he had made those movies to save "Little Suzie" from a worse fate. People wouldn't understand, they wouldn't get it. They'd tell themselves if he was really a decent human being, he would have found a way to blast through the basement, or sneak upstairs and get himself and Suzie out of the house, he would have found some way to keep Suzie safe. He certainly wouldn't have done what he'd done, made those movies and tried so hard to make it as painless as possible for the girl. None of those passing judgement lived his life, none of them knew what it was like to live in a world where every choice was horrible, that all you could do was pick the least horrible.

They had dug up his birth name, which led to finding his birth family. Donna, Jacob, Amber and Zach. And they had been hounded, too, Donna especially because she'd been a single parent when he was taken, and a drug addict. But, Donna had held her head high and somehow weathered it through. She wasn't Donna Ambrose anymore, she was Donna Miller. and she wasn't going to stoop to the level of the idiots on the internet. And she encouraged Mox to do the same.

"I can see why it would remind you," Sefa said. "That was probably the most difficult time of your life after you escaped. But you weathered it. You did more than just get through it, you rose above it. You didn't hide, you faced it head on. You didn't allow yourself to be exploited, you continued. The whole family was over the moon when you won that lawsuit about the book. Happy you won and proud of what you did when you won."

The book. Mox couldn't forget that one. A completely unauthorized book about him, with the titillating title of, _Growing Up A Sex Slave - The story of Dean Ambrose!_ Yes, publishers had put all sorts of disclaimers on it, and had tried to hide the author, who had been hired to write it, published it as a cheap, sensational paperback sold in the spin racks at airports, bus stations, and supermarkets, but of course Mox had found out about it and read it.

They claimed to have exclusive interviews with "Little Suzie," which Mox knew was bullshit. Suzie was likely dead and if she wasn't, she was probably doing her best to stay out of the public eye. When he was younger, the book did portray him as a victim, but when it came to the Little Suzie movies, suddenly he was a sex crazed animal, dying to do to a little girl what had been done to him. And the whole thing was just one big lie.

His first reaction was to just run off and forget it existed and for a few months, he kept low, refusing to wrestle at SPWA like he always did. Then, he got angry and hired a lawyer and took the publisher to court. The case had dragged out, he'd won the first time in court, then it was appealed and he lost, but he won the appeal they filed after that. Higher and higher in the court system they climbed and with every rung, it brought more and more attention to the whole mess. Not as much as Dennis's trial had, but enough.

When the case hit the State Supreme Court, the publishing company probably realized they'd spent more money on lawyers and court costs than they would have to have just settled and admitted they were guilty. They agreed to pay up. Mox told them he didn't want their blood money, what he wanted them to do was to donate it to the Center for Missing Children, which they'd done. They'd even tried to spin it like the donation had been their idea, but Mox had fought on that, too.

"I-I couldn't let them keep making money off of it," Mox said to Sefa. "But I couldn't stop it, it was already out there. But I could make sure that the money they made and then some, went to help find other kids."

"Exactly." Sefa said. "Hey, Mox, maybe this is a sign?"

"A sign? What sign? Here There Be Monsters?"

Sefa chuckled. "Remember when you were in the thick of that lawsuit, you asked me when it would be over? You were so tired of all the fighting, the case with Dennis, people bothering you, then the lawsuit with the publishing company? You asked me several times, 'Will it ever be over?'"

He did remember that. "And you always said it would be. You couldn't tell me how long it would take, but you told me someday it would end. That I might always run into folks who remembered, but it wouldn't be so huge anymore. That people move on."

"Yeah," Sefa said. "And it's died down a lot, but I know you think a lot of that is keeping your head down and trying your best to stay out of sight. I think deep down, you're afraid if you rear up your head, people will jump all over you."

"Maybe," Mox said slowly.

"Well, maybe the fact that the WWF wants to use Dean Ambrose is a sign that it is over." Sefa said. "I know the WWF, I mean, E, has a habit of thinking any publicity is good publicity, but they aren't going to risk throwing a child rapist in the audience's face."

Mox winced at the "child rapist" remark, but kept silent.

"The fact that they're willing, that they _want_ to use that name, tells me that as far as they are concerned, the Court of Public Opinion has spoken and the majority say you are not guilty. That all the work you've done since, all the help you've been to the FBI in finding other kids, you've proven you did what you had to and can't be found guilty." Sefa said. "So, if I were you, I'd use this as another way to Rise Up. Don't hate the name, embrace it. Say it loud and proud and when you're in that ring or the cameras are on you and you are Dean Ambrose? Walk with a swagger, strut your stuff. In your head, you're not just Dean Ambrose, you're Dean _Motherfucking_ Ambrose and the only thing you're guilty of is being the best wrestler in the WWE. You've overcome so much. You deserve to take back the name you were born with, deserve to turn it into something good for you, not something to be exploited."

Mox said nothing at first, let the words soak into his brain. Okay, maybe he would have rather run ropes than call Sefa, but calling his Dad had been the right thing, because his Dad was _smart_ his dad was _right_. _He_ hadn't tainted the name Dean Ambrose. The people that wanted to continue exploiting him had done that. People who were as bad as Dennis in their own way, wanting to pick bits of him apart until he was nothing but what they made him. He'd fought that, fought to be, not just Jon Moxley Reigns, but to be him, _all of him_.

All of him included Dean Ambrose. Kidnapped child he'd been, forced into a horrible life for ten long years, but he'd gotten out of that. He hadn't let them kill him, he'd left and found a family, found his passion, which was wrestling, and rose above all the crap other tried to throw on him. He deserved to take back his birth name. It would make a pretty good wrestling name. He could be Dean Ambrose. If he could be Jon Moxley, and Jon Moxley Reigns, he could be Dean Ambrose too. He could make Dean Ambrose into the wrestler he _deserved_ to be.

And who knew? Maybe one day, instead of hearing, "Dean Ambrose is your son? Oh, you must feel awful knowing he was kidnapped and abused," MamaDonna would instead hear, "You're the mother of Dean Ambrose? Wow, he's my favorite wrestler!" And she could hold her head high, no faking.

He wanted to tell Sefa what he was thinking, but he knew it would take too long, and he had a feeling his Dad already knew what he'd been thinking, so he summed it up in a perfect sentence. 'You're right, Dad."

"Damned right, I'm right," Sefa said, his voice low so as not to wake family upstairs, but still with that tone that said he would brook no argument on the matter. Then, it softened. "I'm not saying it will be easy son, but easy has never been your life and it probably never will be. You're not weak and you're not soft. You've had to fight for everything. And it must be exhausting sometimes, but I don't think you want it any other way. I think you want to look back at all you've done and say, 'I earned it,' right?"

Mox nodded as he told his father yes. It was the truth. Being handed everything would turn it soft and mushy. He wasn't soft, he wasn't mushy, he was hard and strong. He was a fighter and a survivor, and being a survivor wasn't a bad thing.

Maybe for the first time ever, he could think about the fact that he survived his years in the basement with pride instead of disgust. That fighting from tipping the scales so Sam or Dennis would finally murder him was a sign of strength, not weakness. "Thank you, Dad," he whispered, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. Not the tears of sadness, but of joy. He had a family who loved him, he was strong, he was a survivor. "I love you."

"I love you too, Sefa said. "And I would ask you if you felt you could get some sleep, but I hear your mother stirring about upstairs, so I know you'd be waking up soon anyway. I mean, if you're really wiped, I could call the center and… you know, tell them you're sick. They'll buy it from me. They won't give you grief over it."

"No way," Mox said. "I'd rather pass out from exhaustion than not show up. One night of little sleep won't kill me. And, it's Friday. Two more days and it will be Sunday. I can make it." Sunday was the one day of rest given to the trainees.

"Are you going to come up and join us for Sunday dinner?" Sefa asked. "You're welcome to bring Seth."

Some Sundays, Mox ended up sleeping, but not all of them. It was a long drive up to SPWA, but he wanted to see his Mom and Dad. Lance perhaps and maybe Roman would be home that weekend from college. Marc, Noella, his niece and nephew too. It would be great to see the family. "Yeah," he said. "As long as Seth agrees, tell Mom to set a couple extra places at the table. Tell her the Future and Best WWE Champion is coming for Sunday dinner. And Seth too."

"I will," Sefa said laughing.

As Mox disconnected his phone, he could hear Seth stumbling into the kitchen. He'd gone to his room to make the call so he wouldn't wake him. He knew Seth would want to talk about his meeting, since he'd been so quiet coming home. He'd want to hear Mox get excited about it, to agree that Dusty was awesome, and Dan was pretty cool.

And Mox had the feeling that wouldn't be a problem at all.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: This is a one-shot I wrote awhile ago, and waited to publish until I Can't Explain was published. I have another story coming out, "So Sad About Us," that will (Hopefully) pretty much conclude the saga of Jon Moxley Reigns. That is going to be a multi-part story.

I do respond to all feedback left for me. It just might take me longer. I busted up my right hand real good, so I'm typing one handedly. I'm not very good at it and I'll be glad when the cast is off.


End file.
